


Where's Your Heaven?

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Not a death fic, Worried Dean, Worried Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:24:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5344034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While sitting vigil over a wounded Cas, Sam and Dean have to face the reality that no afterlife for angels means they may never be reunited with their friend again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where's Your Heaven?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em. Also, some lines lifted from 8x1; they’re not mine either. AU Season 8 in that Dean and Cas get out of Purgatory together. Which means no Benny for simplicity. (Sorry, Benny! I actually do really like you!) Also a minor fix-it for some other things about that season…
> 
> For Miyth, who wanted to see some Sam and Dean angst over the fact that angels don’t go anywhere when they die, but seemingly just cease to exist. But this is NOT a death fic.
> 
> (Originally posted June 8, '15 on ff.net)

Dean heard the guttural rumble of the Impala’s engine several seconds before the classic beauty came into view, jouncing over uneven dirt and grass as it approached Rufus’s cabin. He wanted nothing more than to run out there, but a year in Purgatory had left his nerves as taut as a stretched bowstring, and he had to be on guard. So he waited, two bottles in hand, peeking between the curtains as Sam got out of the car and sprinted toward the door. It opened, and once Sam stepped inside, Dean surged forward and pushed him to the ground. He flung the contents of one bottle at him first, braced for a sizzling reaction.

“What the—?” Sam sputtered. “I’m not a demon.”

Dean poured the Borax over him next.

“Or a Leviathan. What—”

Dean wasn’t listening. Every waking moment of his life for the past twelve months had been about survival in a land of monsters, and he couldn’t turn it off like a flip of the switch. Withdrawing a knife from his jacket, he grabbed Sam’s arm and sliced the blade across it. Sam gasped in pain, clamping his other hand over the bleeding gash.

“Or a shifter. Good.” Dean stood up. “My turn. Come on. Let’s go.” They didn’t have time to dally on this. Dean held the bottles out to Sam.

“I don’t need to. I know it’s you.”

“Damn it, Sammy!” He splashed the holy water and Borax over himself, then slashed the knife across his forearm. Bright red blood welled up, and Dean held out his arm as evidence.

Sam got off the floor. “You good now?”

Dean gave a clipped nod, and pulled out a bandana to tie around the laceration, hating how his hands were starting to shake. And not with fear or anxiety, but just sheer _relief_. He was standing in front of his brother, whom he hadn’t known if he’d ever see again. Dean stepped forward and threw his arms around Sam, squeezing with the tension that had overwhelmed him throughout the past year.

Sam squeezed back. “I never stopped looking,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I just…didn’t know where. I mean, what the hell happened?”

Dean pulled away. “I guess standing too close to exploding Dick sends your ass straight to Purgatory.”

Sam’s brows shot up. “You were in Purgatory?” He reached up to run a hand over his hair, which Dean noticed was looking a little longer and unkempt, as were Sam’s clothes. He obviously hadn’t been taking the best care of himself. “I never thought to look there…I mean, I tried so many leads, but none of them…”

Dean clasped Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’m back now.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief, but then his posture straightened. “And Cas?”

Dean’s jaw tightened, and he sidestepped to give Sam a clear view of the cot next to the fireplace. With the dusty and grubby state of the cabin, it was easy to miss the form lying along the back wall, half-buried under a ratty blanket. Sam sucked in a sharp breath and hurried over, Dean following more slowly.

Sam roved his gaze over the unconscious angel. “Is he…?”

“Alive,” Dean said, voice hoarse. “But not for much longer.”

Sam whipped his head up, eyes wide and demanding an explanation. Dean wordlessly reached down and folded back one corner of the blanket. He’d removed the filthy trench coat and hospital scrub top in order to bandage the three puncture wounds in Castiel’s shoulder, even though there was nothing he could really do for them. Three black spots seeped through the gauze, matching the inky veins spreading out down Cas’s arm and chest.

“Leviathan got him on our way out. Injected him with poisoned blood, I guess. Cas said…he said it’s fatal to angels.”

Sam had been reaching down to touch the bandage, but jerked his hand back at that. “Is he sure? I mean, how long has it been? Wouldn’t that kind of poison be more fast-acting?”

“I don’t think he got a full dose,” Dean replied, the memory of that last fight fresh in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Leviathan arching an arm back and aiming to plunge into Castiel’s chest. Cas had twisted at the last second, getting partially caught in the shoulder instead. Dean’s ears still echoed with the angel’s scream.

“So, then maybe there’s a chance,” Sam pressed, gaze searching Dean for confirmation he couldn’t give.

“I don’t know, Sammy,” he said hollowly. He’d been just as stubborn himself when he and Cas first got out, declaring that the angel would be just fine and bullying him into making the trek to the cabin. It hadn’t been easy, but damn had Cas tried. He’d given everything, once again, to see Dean reach a place of refuge. Only then had he collapsed, and hadn’t woken up since.

Dean turned and went to grab a beer from the mini fridge. He felt Sam’s eyes on his back, but ignored it. He was too worn out to provide the comfort and reassurance his little brother was looking for. The cap popped off with a light fizzle, and Dean took a long drag. God, how he’d missed alcohol while in Purgatory. He had a lot of drinking to make up for.

A minute later he heard the scrape of wood as Sam dragged a chair over to the cot. Dean let his eyes rove around the cabin—anywhere but behind him, that is—taking in the lumpy sofa and small television, things that seemed so…mundane. He’d showered and changed clothes already, another daily routine he’d taken for granted. He knew he should feel renewed appreciation for them, excitement at being able to return to normal, but the truth was he almost _missed_ Purgatory. Not in the sense he wanted to be there—only crazy ex-gods with colossal guilt complexes wanted _that_. But he’d gotten used to it. Living day to day with only the goal of survival had seeped into his blood, and with that motivation gone, Dean found himself feeling…lost.

“So how’d you get out?” Sam’s voice broke through his confusing thoughts.

Dean gave himself a small shake. “I guess whoever built that box didn’t want me in there any more than I did.”

“What does that mean?”

He finally turned around to face Sam, who was sitting by Cas’s side. Where Dean should be. He’d crossed miles upon miles of Purgatory searching for the angel, then fought with him to find their way out, and finally dragged him across half a state to get here, so why couldn’t he stand to be within five feet of his best friend now?

Because Dean had failed to save Cas. He’d promised to get them both out, and yeah, he had, but in the end it wasn’t enough.

He cleared his throat. “There was a portal, an escape hatch that only humans could use.” Dean knocked back another swig and shrugged. “Maybe some poor bastard got stuck in there once before.”

Sam’s brow creased in thought. “So how’d Cas get through if it was only for humans?”

“Angels weren’t meant to be in monster heaven either.”

And just like that, Dean was back in that place, huddled into a hollowed-out oak as wolves howled in the night. Cas was standing guard, as he did every night, but Dean couldn’t sleep. Needing to take his mind off the bone-chilling sounds of predators ripping into some poor prey as it squealed, he’d asked Cas about the various afterlifes that seemed to exist: Heaven, Hell, Purgatory. Cas had provided a somewhat lengthy and rather boring history lesson on each location’s founding. It wasn’t quite the distraction Dean had been looking for, but it did serve its purpose.

_“So what about angels?”_

_“What about them?”_

_“Where do angels go when they die?”_

_Cas didn’t respond for a moment. “Nowhere.”_

_Dean rolled his eyes. “Is it supposed to be some huge secret? Come on, Cas! Who am I gonna tell?”_

_Castiel shifted his weight awkwardly. “There is no afterlife for angels, Dean. When we die…we just cease to exist.”_

_Dean frowned. “Are you sure? I mean, I get that maybe you guys don’t know for certain, just like not all humans are sure there’s a Heaven or Hell. But you’ve died like, what, three times now? There must be_ something _.”_

_He didn’t know why this was suddenly so important to him. For one thing, death had become almost a rather casual concept in his life. Dean had died several times. So had Sam. Beating death was practically a family tradition now. And with Cas, the dude was immortal, save for the few times he’d been killed, but he’d been brought back as well. Yet, Dean knew he and Sam had a place in Heaven, and Cas…if he died again, his spirit would simply be snuffed out?_

_Cas’s mouth was pressed into a tight line when he finally answered. “I’m sure, Dean. There was nothing…after.” He cocked his head, gaze angled down as though thinking out loud to himself. “Dying would certainly be easier, but it’s more than I deserve. I need to do penance first, for however long I can survive in this place.”_

_Dean fell silent after that, fed up with that line of argument and Cas’s negativity in regards to whether the portal would work on him or not._

“It’s not fair,” he muttered.

Sam arched an eyebrow at him. “What’s not?”

Dean rolled his shoulder, embarrassed that he’d spoken aloud. “Nothin’.”

Sam shot him a classic bitch-face. “Come on, Dean.”

Setting his bottle on the table, he dragged the other chair over to sit next to his dying friend. He owed him that much.

“It’s…I was just remembering a conversation Cas and I had one night in Purgatory. How angels don’t have an afterlife.” He shook his head with a scowl. “Even monsters go somewhere when they die. Yeah, it’s a shitty place, but it’s there! Cas…Cas is just gonna wink out or something. Like he was never alive to begin with.”

Dean’s gaze dropped to the unconscious angel, and his chest suddenly constricted with the knowledge that this was it, the last time he would ever see Cas again. What miracle was there for a fallen angel? Unless God stepped in again, but even Dean had to admit that three times was probably the limit to the old man’s patience.

The darkened veins stood out on Cas’s pale skin like Stygian barbed wire, slowly choking the life out of the angel. Dean suddenly felt too enclosed in the small cabin, a spiky lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. He surged to his feet abruptly. “Need some air.” Without waiting for a comment from Sam, he strode out of the cabin.

o-0-o

Sam watched Dean disappear out the door, then turned his attention back to the shallow rise and fall of Castiel’s chest. Sweat had started glistening the angel’s brow and dampening his matted hair. The poison in his system seemed to be progressing, despite Sam’s desperate hope that it wouldn’t.

He’d spent the past year searching for his brother, wondering what had happened to Dean and Cas after they’d ganked Dick Roman. For a while there, he’d even thought they might be dead. After all, where else could they have gone? And as difficult as that had been to come to terms with, Sam had always known in the back of his mind that if Dean was dead, his soul would be in Heaven. Knowing Sam had a place there too, that they would be reunited again someday…well, it hadn’t lessened the pain and grief of losing Dean, but it left a sliver of hope. It made Bobby’s passing just a smidgen easier to bear, along with every other person they’d lost over the years. But to think that if Cas died, he would just be…gone… That twisted Sam’s insides to a whole new level.

He placed a hand over Cas’s and squeezed. “Hey, Cas. I don’t know if you can hear me. I mean, if I make this a prayer, then maybe it’ll reach you…” He swallowed hard. “You gotta fight this, Cas. I know you have it in you. You’ve done things no other angel ever has, which means you can beat something that would normally kill another angel. Okay, Cas? I just got you and Dean back, and…and you’re not supposed to die.”

Maybe that was why God never created an afterlife for angels, because they were meant to endure forever. But a lot of things had changed.

Sam’s grip tightened over Cas’s limp fingers. “Dean would never admit it, but he needs you, Cas. You didn’t see him after…you died the last time. Even after everything he grieved in a way he’d never grieved for anyone else.”

Sam had been too caught up in his own pain and growing insanity under Lucifer’s hallucinations to let Cas’s death affect him all that much. But now, now that Cas had saved him from the Cage scars, sacrificed his own sanity to do it, Sam could think and feel clearly. And he knew Cas meant almost as much to him as Dean did. The angel was family, after all.

“I need you too,” he said shakily. “So just hang in there.”

Cas gave no sign whether he’d heard, not that Sam had expected him to. After a few more moments, he got up to fill a bowl with lukewarm water and retrieve a hand towel so he could try to ease the fever that had started. There was little else he could do against an enemy like this. The Leviathans had been damn near invincible, and also, so it seemed, was their poison.

Dean came back half an hour later, shoulders slumped in defeat. It made Sam angry, seeing his older brother give up like this. Dean _never_ quit. But Sam didn’t say anything; he’d spent the past year knowing all too well what it was like to chase the long shot only to find bitter disappointment at the end of each road.

“So what happened after we ganked Dick?” Dean spoke up as he retook his seat next to Sam. “I mean, it’s been a year, and I don’t see people lined up to be a Leviathan’s next meal, so it must have worked, right?”

“Yeah, the Leviathans scattered. I’ve run into a couple since, and actually managed to kill them without Dick around.”

Dean nodded absently. “Good. And Kevin? Kid get to back to his SATs or whatever?”

Sam’s mouth turned down. “Crowley took Kevin.”

“ _What_?”

Sam held up a hand. “It’s okay, Dean. He managed to escape.” He shook his head, still in awe over the kid’s ingenuity and spunk. “I have him stashed in a safe house.”

Dean leaned back in his chair. “Oh, alright.”

They fell silent after that. When Sam had gotten the message from Dean, saying he was back and to come to the cabin, Sam had been overwhelmed with joy. Dean wasn’t dead. After everything they’d been through, it’d all be okay. They’d go back on the road, back to hunting run-of-the-mill monsters that would be cake compared to the last few years. He hadn’t expected to find this. Hadn’t expected to be sitting vigil by their dying friend.

Cas suddenly coughed, and Sam lurched forward in anticipation of the angel regaining consciousness, but Cas’s head merely lolled to the side, and flecks of viscous black unguent started dripping out the corner of his mouth.

“Shit,” Dean cursed.

Sam folded one corner of the damp bandana over and wiped the fluid from Cas’s chin, trying to fight down his own surge of bile. He’d spoken to Mrs. Tran, after freeing her from the SucroCorp building, and gotten the story of how she and Kevin had been kidnapped in the first place, including how Castiel’s garrison had died. It had been horrific for the woman to recount, especially since she was already distraught over her once again missing son, but it was important information for Sam to know. That’s why he still held onto hope that Cas could survive this, because those other angels had died pretty quick. Although, Dean had a point that Cas hadn’t received a direct hit. And the poisoned blood spilling from the mouth was the last…

He cut off that thought before it could follow through, and went to get a clean rag. When he came back, he found Dean using his own handkerchief to dab the sweat from Cas’s forehead.

“Stupid bastard did this to me once before,” Dean mumbled.

Sam sat back down. “What do you mean?”

“Jumped in front of a werewolf that was about to gut me, practically got disemboweled himself. He’d been laid up for a while after that, a few hours.” Dean rewet the cloth. “Well, a few hours is a long time when you’re a sitting duck in Purgatory. He healed up though, just like he always does.” The unspoken _‘did’_ hung in the air between them like a guillotine ready to drop.

Sam leaned closer to the cot, interlocking his fingers across his lap. “Was Cas…I mean, was he still…?”

Dean stared at him for a moment before letting out a small chuckle. “Nah, he kicked the insanity thing. He probably wouldn’t have lasted long otherwise. Know what he said when I asked him though? ‘Ninety-four percent of psychotics think they’re perfectly sane, so the question is, ‘what is sane?’” Dean shook his head and muttered “nerd” under his breath.

Sam’s lips twitched. That sounded like Cas. A pang speared through his chest. The last real conversation he’d had with the angel had been to forgive Cas, and to promise they’d find a way to make him better. Cas had just quirked a brow and asked what Sam meant by that. It had torn Sam’s heart to see the angel, their friend, so…broken. Sure, maybe Cas was happy for once, but Sam knew it was just an illusion, a fabrication of the mind built to protect itself. It wasn’t _really_ who Cas was.

Another cough wracked the angel, and this time Sam moved quickly to turn his head so he wouldn’t choke on the viscid liquid. Dean grabbed the already soiled bandana and held it under Cas’s mouth. The retching lasted almost half a minute, an agonizingly long time to Sam, who was afraid that each ragged gasp would be Castiel’s last. But Cas finally fell limp again, breath wheezing in his lungs as he clung to life.

_“Just hang in there, Cas,”_ Sam prayed. _“You can’t leave us now.”_ Not like this. Not _ever_. Because now that Sam knew what would happen to Cas if he died, he realized how important it was for Cas to survive. Permanence was what distinguished a human soul; no matter if they went to Heaven or Hell, the soul endured. And so did monsters, apparently. Which made angels, what, as lowly as animals? Just one candle in a sea of light? So if one burned out, it wouldn’t be missed? Well, dammit, Cas _would_ be missed. Not only that, but he wasn’t just any angel that could be replaced; he was their friend, their brother.

Sam realized that somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d always expected Cas to be there after he died, visiting him and Dean in Heaven. That was the way it was supposed to be. That was Cas’s heaven—for Sam suspected the angel wouldn’t stick around on earth after the Winchesters were gone. They’d all be safe, the good fight finally over.

His vision blurred with hot moisture, smudging away the sight of black blood and pitch veins. Sam rubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Dean either didn’t notice, or didn’t feel like making a snarky comment.

At some point, Sam tore himself away from Cas’s side to bring in the supplies he’d brought. He didn’t ask how long it’d been since Dean had eaten, just set about making a sandwich and thrusting the plate in his brother’s face. Dean glowered at him, but after a few moments, took a tentative bite. He then scarfed down the sandwich, and Sam went to fix another one. The afternoon waned into evening, and the two brothers stayed by Castiel, bracing him when vicious coughs threatened to suffocate him and wiping away the streams of poisoned ichor from his mouth.

Sam kept up a constant litany of silent prayer to Cas, telling him to hold on, that he and Dean were right there. He even thanked Cas for looking out for Dean while in Purgatory. Sometimes he rambled, telling Cas how hard Sam had looked for them, how much he’d missed them both. A few times when he’d glanced at Dean, he noticed the lines of his brother’s face tight in concentration, as though maybe he was praying to their angel too.

It wasn’t until dawn, when pale light suffused through the front window, that Cas suffered another bout of coughing…and no black blood spewed out. Sam straightened, reaching over to press two fingers to Castiel’s throat. The pulse was a little fast, but much stronger than it had been. Holding his breath, Sam pulled back the blanket to expose the bandaged shoulder. The darkened veins had significantly lightened, almost eggplant-colored near the wounds themselves, but the tendril ends had faded to gray.

“Dean,” he said in a hushed voice. Was it truly possible?

Dean leaned closer, his entire bearing taut with tension, eyes narrowed as they scrutinized the veins. Carefully, he peeled back the bandages, revealing three ugly holes in Cas’s shoulder. Dean then exhaled heavily. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. “Sammy, I think they’re healing.”

Sam hadn’t seen how bad they’d been initially, but he’d witnessed enough injuries to be able to imagine, and these, while somewhat grisly and still black, _seemed_ as though the skin was slowly melding back together. He ran both hands over his hair, the resulting flood of relief making him lightheaded.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Dean breathed, echoing how Sam felt. Cas was gonna make it.

The brothers exchanged half-giddy, half-delirious grins, and just like that, the routine of post-hunt rituals kicked in. They changed the bandages on Cas’s shoulder, flushing out the wounds as best they could, and Sam was thrilled to see some more glutinous poison bleed from the angel’s system. Once done, Sam set about making breakfast and putting on a fresh pot of coffee. He and Dean ate eagerly, plus started puttering around the cabin and putting things away. They’d probably be staying here for a while. At least one of them remained by the cot at all times, but it was no longer out of fear that Cas would breathe his last, but in anticipation for when he finally woke.

They had to wait until early afternoon before at long last the angel twitched with movement that wasn’t a cough. Cas’s face grimaced as he gradually clawed his way back to consciousness.

“Dean!” Sam called, and a split second later his brother came charging out of the bathroom. Dean’s eyes were wide with a glimmer of fear, which Sam understood. They’d come so close to losing Cas, and still wouldn’t be one-hundred percent sure he’d recover until he woke up.

Dean scrambled into the other chair and leaned over the cot near Castiel’s head. “Cas?”

Sam watched as the angel mumbled something, eyelids fluttering sluggishly. When they finally dragged open, Sam beamed at him. Cas blinked several times, brow furrowing in either confusion or pain, maybe a mixture.

Dean rested a hand on top of Cas’s head. “We made it, Cas. You made it.”

Cas stared owlishly at them for a few more moments. “I…” He swallowed hard when his voice came out raw.

Sam snatched up a bottle of water and held it to his lips. Cas gulped down several drags.

“Thank you,” he rasped, then cleared his throat to try again. “I…why am I not dead?”

“You beat the Leviathan poison, Cas,” Sam said, hardly able to contain his excitement.

Cas quirked a brow at him, an expression Sam had dearly missed. “That is… _should_ be…impossible.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean put in. “You’re good at doing that kind of thing.” He grinned at the angel, who continued to look disoriented. Sam sympathized; they’d all been through a lot.

He clasped Cas’s forearm and squeezed. “It’s good to have you back.”

“I…I’m just surprised.”

“Listen to me,” Dean said rather firmly, startling Sam. “This isn’t a punishment. You survived, okay? One year of penance or whatever in Purgatory was enough; you don’t have to do anymore, or think you deserve to die, because you _don’t_. I forgive you, okay? And me and Sam want you here. Cursed or not, remember?”

Sam’s brows shot up in dismay. Obviously some stuff went down in Purgatory that he was unaware of, but he was quickly gleaning the gist of it. “Cas,” he jumped in. “You know I forgave you too, right? Back before we even went up against Dick. I’ve been so worried since you and Dean disappeared, did everything I could to try to find you _both_. And with you nearly dying just now…”

Cas frowned. “That…that sounds familiar.” His forehead creased in consternation. “I remember hearing your voices, but that can’t be right. It must have been a dream.”

Sam glanced at Dean, who appeared surprised and partially embarrassed. Sam tried to hide his grin, albeit unsuccessfully. “It wasn’t a dream, Cas.”

His eyes widened. “Oh. Then, your forgiveness…it’s genuine. And when you called me…” Cas’s mouth worked as though the word he wanted was dissolving on his tongue like tissue paper. “Family,” he whispered, tentatively, hopefully.

Sam squeezed his arm again, and Dean’s touch on the angel’s head was uncharacteristically gentle. “Yeah, Cas. You’re still family. Which means you’re stuck with us.”

His lids started to flutter as a small smile finally graced his face. “Thank you.” There was such gratitude and heavy emotion in those two words, that Sam felt his own throat thickening.

“Always, Cas.” _Always_. Until the end of their days and beyond.

 


End file.
